


Slipping Past Your Fortress

by CatHeights



Series: Slipping Past Your Fortress [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-18
Updated: 2010-10-18
Packaged: 2017-10-12 18:27:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatHeights/pseuds/CatHeights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Several months after Mal's death, Eames asks Arthur to work on a job with him. He sees the time as an opportunity to forge memories that will slip past Arthur's walls and linger like a comforting scent, but Eames is only beginning to understand Arthur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slipping Past Your Fortress

**Author's Note:**

> While I use the Hassler as a setting, I have taken liberties, so consider it a fictional place loosely based off a real place.

Eames can't keep the smile off his face as he waits for Arthur's plane to land. He hadn't expected Arthur to agree to take the job. Their last encounter had ended in a spectacularly bad way when he pushed for more than Arthur was ready to give, which was nothing at all. Arthur is strung way too tight, and he has no appreciation for the effort Eames puts into trying to get him to relax. It's safe to say being faced with a cold and defensive Arthur hadn't brought out the best in him. _Oh be honest, you were bloody awful to him._

Oh well. Obviously Arthur's gotten over it, so he isn't going to worry about what happened last time. Today is a brand new opportunity, and he's not going to waste it. He intends to leave Arthur with plenty of fabulous memories that will bleed open the want he just knows Arthur is reigning in tightly. Such a study in contrasts is his Arthur. On the one hand a cold, analytical, stick in the mud, and yet beneath all that control, Eames has seen sparks of something waiting to ignite. He wants to put the match to that tinder and find out more.

Eames likes people. He likes to study their behavior and anticipate their reactions, but so few hold his attention for long. Arthur's different. He's a challenge and mystery that Eames is eager to unravel, but at the same time there's this feeling he's never had before—the feeling that's he's known Arthur forever. They make the perfect team. He just needs to convince Arthur to accept that truth, and he will. This time will go better than the last. After all, Eames is good at convincing people to believe what he wants them to believe.

When he catches sight of Arthur walking toward him, Eames's smile falters. The man looks ill with vivid dark circles beneath his eyes. It occurs to Eames that it's only been a little over four months since Mal killed herself and suspicion fell on Cobb. Arthur was decidedly close to both Cobbs, and they to him.

He remembers the first job Mal brought him in on. It was lust at first sight with Arthur. As his eyes roamed appreciatively over the perfectly dressed man, a small hand had pressed hard against his arm. With surprise, he'd looked up into Mal's eyes, which were cold for once, and all she said was, "He's family." The message had been clear: mess with him and you mess with us.

Obviously Arthur is grieving, and it suddenly occurs to Eames that Arthur readily accepting this job could be a sign of emotional instability. It's a thought he really doesn't like, so he's just going to undo having it. Besides the job is a simple one. Well, sort of. The extraction piece should be simple, but the entourage that had recently started fawning over the mark presents a bit of unpredictability.

It's easy to push aside his concerns as Arthur approaches because even exhausted the man is gorgeous. Eames easily finds his smile again. "Arthur."

"Eames." Arthur extends his hand, but Eames ignores it, and instead hugs him and then kisses each cheek.

Arthur steps back from him recovering his personal space with a glare.

Eames keeps smiling. "Let me lead you to your chariot. Do you need help with anything?"

"No. I'm fine." He only has two bags, both carry-ons.

It always amazes Eames how light Arthur travels. He's so fussy about his appearance that you would expect him to travel with an entire wardrobe. Once he'd made a joke about how Arthur must own some sort of magic suitcase, which had gotten him a cold look and a disdainful response. "There are these things called stores. I would have expected you to know such a thing, but obviously I gave you too much credit." As if Arthur buys all those suits in something as pedestrian as a department store. Eames suspects the truth is Arthur has storage locations for his clothing all over the world. Someday he'll trail him to find him heading to one of his secret suit caches. The thought greatly amuses Eames.

"So, working a lot lately?" Eames asks as he navigates them through the busy airport.

"I guess. Why?"

"You seem tired. And I can't imagine you've suddenly developed a social life that's keeping you up all night." He says the last part with a smirk, which is supposed to take the sting out the comment. It fails miserably.

Arthur clenches his jaw, but he doesn't snap back.

It takes a huge amount of restraint to resist making a comment on how unhealthy it is to be so tense all the time and how he gives a fabulous massage. Hmm, yes, that would be a bad thing to say right now. Such a shame. It's time to change the topic. "So...."

Arthur doesn't give him a chance to complete his sentence. He turns so he's blocking Eames's path. "Listen, I don't have the patience today for your bullshit. Did you ask me here to work on a job with you, or so you can practice your annoying and pathetic innuendo? If it's the latter, let me know right now, so I can catch the next plane out of here. Strange as it might seem to you, I have better things I could be doing than be insulted by you." Arthur's breathing hard, and his left fist is clenched and shaking.

"Easy." Eames holds his hands out in front of him, a placating gesture, and makes sure he isn't invading Arthur's personal space. "I asked you here because I want your help with a job. End of story. There's no ulterior motive."

Okay so maybe that's not completely true, but there's no way he can say anymore without innuendo, and his goal is to diffuse this situation not inflame it further. By the look of disbelief on Arthur's face, he's going to have to work a little harder.

"You want to stick purely to business. Fine. That won't be a problem."

Arthur rubs at the bridge of his nose, and Eames suspects he has a headache. "If you can be as professional as you're capable of being on this job, Mr. Eames, that would be greatly appreciated."

Eames is sure his expression looks like he bit into a lemon. He hates when Arthur throws in the Mr., as it's the verbal equivalent of a brick wall. Still he keeps quiet for the rest of the walk to the car. He's never seen Arthur like this. Sure his replies often have bite to them, but not rage.

He lets the silence remain until he's driven out of the airport, and then he starts talking about the job. "I've successfully integrated myself into Trey Giordano's inner circle. Not the toughest challenge. He's rather dim-witted with no clue the sharks are circling. He believes all the fawning is due to his sparkling personality." Eames's voice drips with sarcasm. "I was one of his best mates in under an hour."

"That I believe. So do you think the uncle and brother's deaths really were accidents?"

"As unlikely as it seemed, yes. There was no sign of foul play involved with the uncle's heart attack, and the brother was an alcoholic who had a habit nightly of getting plastered and then getting behind the wheel of one of his many sports cars. It caught up with him. Granted their deaths being just two hours apart is bizarre, but," Eames shrugs, "sometimes life is strange. So that left our friend with an IQ a shade above moron in charge of one of the world's largest non-public companies."

"Definitely a case of reality being odder than fiction. It doesn't sound like it should be difficult to get him to reveal who's been suggesting to him companies to acquire."

Eames notices Arthur is growing more relaxed as they discuss the job. "Stroll in the park. We just need to create a setting that's comfortable and identify the perfect confidant for me to impersonate. I would say there's a high degree of probability that Trey's advisor is either his lover or someone he'd like to be his lover."

"Why?"

"Because dear Trey is an open book. Keeping a secret would not be an easy thing for someone like him, so it has to be someone he cares deeply about. As far as family, his mum died about five years ago. The father a year after, and now his uncle and brother. There are other relatives. None of whom on my initial reconnaissance does he seem to have a close relationship with, but that's something we'll need to look further into."

Arthur nods. "Ok."

"Trey is currently back in the States, but he's returning to Rome in two weeks for his birthday. He's rented out the Hassler, and I of course have an invite for me and a guest. We can't check in until the day before the party, but the festivities go for an entire week, so that should give us time to get him alone and put him under. The challenge will be getting him away from all the hangers-on."

"And we'll need to get into the hotel a few times prior to map things out."

"Won't be a problem. It's a lovely place to dine. I was thinking dinner at Imàgo one night, hanging out at the bar on another. In the meantime, we're staying at a hotel near Termini, and yes, I reserved separate rooms."

"I'm thoroughly impressed with your attention to detail. You've surprised me."

"You know I live for your condescension, Arthur. Imagine me being able to handle a few details."

"I was being serious." Arthur's lips quirk in the hint of a smile before turning into a frown as a car slides into an extremely small opening in front of them.

As they drive, the boldness of Rome comes in and out of view. Arthur appears rather immune to its charm. "You seem remarkably unimpressed with the wonders of the centuries passing by your window."

"I hate Rome."

"Really?" Eames is surprised. He would have expected Arthur to be drawn to the history and architecture. Then he gets it and laughs. "More accurately, you hate driving in Rome. Eh?"

"This is not driving." Arthur waves a hand and there's disgust in his tone. "I don't know what it is—an example of pure chaos—but it's definitely not driving."

"It's not chaos. You just don't know the rhythm."

"Rhythm, to this?"

"Yes, and once you're in tune with it, you understand the one overriding rule—if there's an open spot, you're destined to fill it. It's all about embracing the moment."

Arthur gives a snort of laughter. "Of course you'd like Rome." He yawns and closes his eyes.

Eames doesn't make any attempt to resume the conversation, as Arthur really does seem exhausted, so he lets the other man rest in quiet for the remainder of the drive.

Once Arthur's checked in, Eames suggests meeting in his room in two hours. "We can order room service and get to work going over things. Unless you'd rather wait until tomorrow morning."

"No, I'd rather get started right away. Meeting at your room in two hours sounds good." Arthur looks suspicious. "Strictly business, correct? There's no reason for me to be wary about going to your room, is there?"

"As agreed, strictly business. We can meet in your room if you prefer." Eames knows there isn't a chance in Hell that would be Arthur's preference.

"No, your room is fine."

"Will you relax? Contrary to what you believe, I am a professional and can stick to the job. However," Eames grins, "once we've successfully completed the job, I reserve the right to make a pitch for a proper celebration."

"Don't you think you're jumping ahead just a bit? One thing at a time. Let's focus on making sure everything is in place so we can complete the job successfully. I'll see you in two hours."

 _Arthur didn't say no._ Eames's grin widens. He hadn't gotten a flat out there will be no celebration, which leaves open all sorts of doors. Ah yes, he hears an opportunity bubbling like champagne.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A week passes by quickly. As many of Trey's so-called friends and cousins either live in the area or are there on holiday, it's easy to flesh out the picture of the main influencers in Trey's life. Unfortunately the person who influenced Trey the most, his mother, happens to be dead, which is not Eames's favorite scenario. It's hard to know if you've gotten the essence of a person correct when you're creating from pictures, videos and individuals' faulty memories. He prefers a living subject to study or to create someone completely new, but he's still confident that he and Arthur will pull this off cleanly.

The weather is mild, so their pace is leisurely as they walk. Eames glances at Arthur who appears relaxed. They have reservations at Imàgo, and they're both dressed for the occasion. At the moment, Arthur has his jacket off and draped over his arm, and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up. His tie is of course perfectly in place.

Eames too has his jacket off, but his tie is tucked inside one of the pockets, and his shirt is open. It's a very conservative shirt, chosen specifically to appeal to Arthur. It may be a dull blue, but he knows the color works for him. Arthur obviously agrees, as Eames has noticed him staring more than once. Boring and conservative are definitely worth doing to capture Arthur's attention.

The exhaustion that haunted Arthur on his arrival has disappeared, but Eames senses beneath the current relaxed manner lurks the sharp edge of some hurt, so he treads carefully. He keeps the flirtatious banter to a minimum, which is a huge act of restraint on his part. It's so tempting to go further since Arthur has started to return the banter, even smiling as he does so. But he can read the fragility of this peace in the occasional darkness that settles around Arthur's eyes. Each time that darkness surfaces, Eames banishes it with an amusing comment. Something unsettling and yet warm twists inside him at his ability to do that for Arthur.

Eames reads people for a living, and he knows Arthur respects his ability as a forger, or he wouldn't work with him. Despite that professional appreciation, he's sure Arthur would be surprised to realize he does actually possess restraint. It's only Arthur who cuts through his control and leads him to do things against his better judgment. Getting a rise out of Arthur has been the only way to get a reaction, and well, those reactions are rather a good bit of fun. Except this week he's learned something surprising. It's even more fun working alongside Arthur in easy camaraderie. They really do work well together.

"Fancy a gelato?"

Arthur looks at his watch with a frown. "But we have reservations at 9."

"Yes, we do, but that's an hour and a half from now, isn't it? Plenty of time for gelato and a walk over to the Trevi Fountain."

"Dessert first?" Arthur raises an eyebrow.

"And after as well if we want. There are no rules around dessert."

Arthur shrugs. "Why not?"

Eames smiles, with Arthur getting an agreement to get gelato before dinner is a victory. "Excellent. There's this fantastic place...."

Arthur interrupts him, his expression smug. "Il Gelato di San Crispino."

"I didn't know you had added mind-reading to your repertoire." His tone might be a bit petulant.

"It's not my first time in Rome."

"Ah, but it's your first time in Rome with me and that makes it a new experience."

Arthur laughs, a carefree sound that Eames decides should be heard daily.

"I'll give you the it's an experience."

When they arrive at the gelateria, he lets Arthur order for them both, enjoying hearing him speak Italian. For someone who claims to hate Rome, he's quite good with the language. They navigate past the crowds and walk toward the Trevi Fountain.

"I think we're pretty much in agreement that Trey's mother is the best person for you to forge, but don't you think using the Trevi Fountain as the setting is a bit much?"

Arthur has seamlessly slipped into business mode, which Eames finds a bit disconcerting, although he's not sure why it bothers him. After all the point of coming down here and having dinner at Imàgo is to familiarize themselves with the area for the night of the extraction. "Trey's a sentimental bloke. He's celebrating his 30th birthday at the hotel his mother loved to stay at, and whenever he's here he walks each night to that fountain, which she also loved. It's a familiar place that holds good memories. Once his mind latches on to the barest hint of that place, he'll fill in the details as he remembers them."

"The fountain also has to remind him of what he lost—that's a powerful emotion."

"It's how he keeps her close."

Arthur nods. "I just think it's too familiar a place. How many times have you been to it?"

"I see where you're going with this. How will my memories of the place influence the dream?"

"Exactly."

Eames traces his spoon across the top of his gelato. "All right how about this? Why don't we design a room with this huge window and have it overlook the fountain? It'll be the defining detail and his mind will flesh out the rest."

"Perfect. We can start work on that tomorrow."

Eames waits for more questions, but Arthur seems satisfied with his idea.

The fountain is crowded as usual, but not nearly as much as Eames was expecting. There are actually spots to sit. He doubts Arthur will agree, but figures it can't hurt asking. "How about sitting down?"

"Sure." Arthur heads toward an open spot.

Eames doesn't follow immediately as he's too stunned by Arthur's easy acquiescence. He shakes his head and hurries to catch up. Arthur is already carefully setting his gelato down and folding his jacket over one knee. Eames notices when he picks up the gelato he keeps it away from his jacket. The sight makes him smile. Eames is not nearly as cautious, tossing his jacket on the ground next to him.

They eat in companionable silence, listening to the sound of the fountain and watching as tourists line up to throw coins over their shoulder in hope that it will ensure their return to Rome. Eames laughs as one teenage girl puts a little too much into her toss and almost tumbles backward into the fountain.

Arthur shakes his head. "It's such a stupid tradition."

"There are worse things people do."

"That doesn't make it any less stupid."

Eames isn't inclined to argue. It's too nice a night for it.

They're both quiet for a few minutes until Arthur asks, "Have you ever seen _La Dolce Vita_?"

"No. That's a Fellini film. A bit before your time, isn't it?"

Arthur rolls his eyes. "Just a bit. Yes, Fellini directed, and it was released in 1960."

"And it's your favorite film?"

"No. I've only seen it once."

Arthur doesn't seem inclined to elaborate, so Eames keeps quiet and waits for him to continue.

"The protagonist, Marcello, is this aspiring novelist who makes his living writing tabloid crap, and becoming infatuated by the numerous women he meets. One of the scenes was filmed here." Arthur taps his fingers against his thigh. "Marcello becomes fascinated by this actress, Sylvia, and at night she wades into the fountain. I think she's supposed to look like some sort of goddess. It's very over the top."

"And let me guess no one else is around when she wades into the Trevi Fountain, except this Marcello, who of course she entices to join her."

A brief smile crosses Arthur's lips. "Of course. She playfully dumps some water on his head, and just as she does so, it's suddenly dawn. With the night gone, so is the illusion, and they look like awkward, drowned fools as they wade their way out of the fountain. I think the crowning moment is when they return, her angry fiancé slaps her and assaults him."

"Ah yes, the angry fiancé, never a good thing." Eames stares at Arthur, but Arthur is looking off toward the fountain. He has a feeling he'll be replaying this conversation on many a night when he's trying to get at the mystery that is Arthur. "So our current endeavor reminds you of this film?"

Arthur shrugs. "Some, I guess. More I think it just reminds me of Rome. You can lose sight of reality even from within reality." He doesn't give Eames a chance to respond to his comment. Instead, he stands and says, "We should get going." Arthur reaches down and takes Eames's empty gelato cup and disposes of them both.

Eames starts to follow him away from the fountain and in the direction of the Spanish Steps and the Hassler when Arthur stops and looks at him thoughtfully.

"What?" Eames asks.

"Give me your tie."

Eames gives him a questioning look, but does as he asks reaching into the pocket of his jacket to retrieve the tie and handing it over. He almost stops breathing as Arthur steps in close and buttons up his shirt. The pads of Arthur's fingers briefly touch his chest. Then he's sliding the tie beneath Eames's collar, thumb grazing his neck. That can't be an accident.

He wants to slide an arm around Arthur's waist, pull him close and kiss him, but he knows the probability of that succeeding is extraordinarily low. If you had told him a month ago, he would be standing here this close to Arthur and not willing to risk a kiss, he would have called you stark mad. But this easy connection they're sharing is still so novel that he's unwilling to risk breaking it. It's a fight to keep his hands at his side. He can feel his fingers curling, almost fisting in frustration. Eames has to close his eyes because he can't look at Arthur's mouth and continue to resist temptation. He feels Arthur smooth down the front of the tie with a solid, warm touch.

"Perfect." Arthur says.

 _Very nearly so, love,_ Eames thinks.

Then suddenly there's emptiness where Arthur's presence has been, and every part of him is howling at the absence. He opens his eyes and sees that Arthur is putting on his jacket. He knows he should do the same, but he's far too aroused to think straight.

"We should really go." Arthur seems oblivious to the effect he's had on Eames.

Or maybe not because Eames notices a small quirk of a smile as Arthur turns away from him. _Bloody tease_ , he thinks with admiration. He realizes until this week, he's only seen Arthur's façade, but suddenly he's been allowed glimpses behind the wall. If he had been obsessed before, well now he's positively addicted, dangerously so. He wants to know everything.

"Coming?" A cool lift of an eyebrow, a smug look, and that faint smile doesn't help Eames's ability to think. He'd like to make Arthur come in so many ways.

Who can blame him if he glances up Arthur's body in admiration before he responds with, "Of course." He also silently thanks Arthur for bringing up his reservations on the Trevi as the scene for the extraction, because Eames is sure his memory of tonight would definitely have bled through.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As Eames watches Arthur take a sip of wine, he tries to remember that they're supposed to be working on a job and that this isn't really a date. It's hard as by this point they've already been to the hotel several times. They have the building plans, and escape routes have been mapped. So for the life of him he can't come up with a single reason not to view this as an opportunity to enjoy a night out with Arthur.

 _Except I promised Arthur I'd keep things professional. Of course it's not like he has a very high bar for my professionalism._ Eames knew restraint was going to be a lost cause the moment they got off at the sixth floor and saw the panoramic view of Rome. Arthur's gaze had widened, and he'd said softly, "Now, that's impressive."

Every passing minute he spends with Arthur at dinner shaves away more of what little restraint remains. The food is exquisite and the company even more so. Eames can't remember the last time he's had such a good time. The view inspired talk of architecture and history, which had led to a rather strange but highly entertaining conversation on what would have happened if the Renaissance popes had known about shared dreaming.

Arthur laughs. "Can you imagine being hired by Pope Julius II to perform extraction on Michelangelo?" His words are spoken softly, but Eames has no trouble hearing them.

Eames has one arm resting along the side of the table. Arthur puts his wine glass down, and as he moves his hand away their fingers touch. It seems a perfectly natural reaction to reach forward and take Arthur's hand. For a blissful few seconds, he feels fingers wrap around his, squeezing and generating a feeling of warmth.

Then the moment shatters, and Arthur is yanking his hand free. "No, I can't. This is only happening because...I should go."

As Arthur stands, Eames grabs his arm. "No, you should stay."

Arthur's lips are an angry no-nonsense line.

"Just hear me out, please." Eames releases his hold. He knows continuing to restrain Arthur will only increase the tension. "Weren't we having a good time? I'm sorry I stepped over one of your lines, but they're not always easy to see."

"I don't have lines."

"Yes, you do, and that's fine. I can keep my hands to myself. Just stay. You're not going to blame me for enjoying your company, right? Besides you're making a bit of a scene."

Arthur closes his eyes and sighs. When he opens them, he sits back down. "I don't know why I do this to myself."

Eames smiles as he waves down the waiter to order more wine. "Because I'm never dull. Does that sound about right?"

"Yes, there are many things I'd accuse you of being, but dull would not be one of them."

"Why don't I focus on the positive part of that statement and ignore what potential accusations you might make upon my character, hmm? Have some more wine."

Arthur shakes his head, but he laughs and picks up his wine glass, raising it slightly in Eames's direction before taking a sip.

After a minute or two, it's like the disruption never happened. Eames is amazed by how easily Arthur has slid back into his good mood. A giddy feeling mixes with the wine sending excited tingles through him. _He's enjoying this night as much as I am._

The rest of dinner goes by in the same easy tone with which it started. When the bill comes, it's quite substantial, but it is money well spent as far as Eames is concerned. As they take the lift down to their taxi, Arthur keeps brushing up against him. It's as if that wall of invisible space that constantly surrounds him has evaporated, much like the wine they consumed that night. It takes every ounce of restraint Eames has not to turn and kiss him.

He's never been this close to having Arthur, never been the sole focus of the other man's attention, and the resulting rush is like nothing he's ever experienced. It's urging him to take advantage of the moment. Right now, he's positive Arthur won't say no. Oh yes, he can have tonight, but that's all he'll get. Because in the morning once the wine wears off, Arthur will feel betrayed. No, not betrayed, vindicated.

Arthur's words from their earlier conversation about that movie come back to him. _With the night gone, so is the illusion._ He can't give Arthur any excuse to dismiss his enjoyment as some momentary lapse in judgment. Eames knows one night with Arthur won't be enough. He wants more, and perhaps he's only beginning to understand just how much more. _All. I want it all._

Arthur smiles at him as they get into the taxi. "Rome's better than I remembered."

"Yes, it is." The response is automatic, and the sincerity must come through because as he slides into the taxi, Arthur briefly squeezes his thigh, and Eames finds he's truly conflicted. His body is flush with want, but his mind is determined. Tonight has been nearly perfect, and with time he and Arthur will forget any imperfection. In memory, it will be perfect. If he wants Arthur, these types of memories are what will slip past his walls to linger like a comforting scent. He can't risk screwing up this opportunity.

They're quiet as the driver stops and starts through the evening crowds. Arthur seems undisturbed by the chaos. Instead, he's staring out the window, a slight upturn to his mouth as if what he sees pleases him. Eames would swear he's looking out the window with a touch of wonder, or perhaps the wonder is on his part as every turn pushes Arthur into him in exquisite torture. His hand twitches wanting to touch Arthur.

They're at their hotel far too soon, and then Arthur's saying goodnight, and Eames is alone. It's a bit anticlimactic. Eames wants more from this night. He lets himself into his room, and when the door closes, he leans back against it with a groan. Why does he have to be so sure that resisting temptation is the best course of action? It's definitely not satisfying at the moment, particularly not when he can smell Arthur's cologne on him. As much as it pains him, he needs to get rid of this scent, or he'll be making a late night visit to Arthur's room.

He takes off his clothes and heads to the shower. As he slides open the clear door, his first thought is how he'd like to get Arthur into this shower. Warm water runs down Eames's back, and his eyes close. In his mind Arthur looks at him with that sliver of a smug smile on his face. Eames leans forward and presses one palm against the wall, while his other hand wraps around his cock. One's imagination should be allowed free reign.

 _"You look good." Arthur kisses him and then leans back. "But I think the style may be a bit uptight for you. I can help with that."_

 _"Go for it, darling."_

 _Arthur reaches for the tie and takes his time removing it, seeming more intent on pressing his thumbs along Eames's collarbone. Eventually the tie joins Arthur's jacket on the chair._

 _"Blue's a good color on you," Arthur says as he begins to open the buttons on the shirt, moving as if he needs to carefully unwrap a gift._

 _Eames groans. "Are you trying to kill me?"_

 _"I'm teaching you patience. Some things are worth the wait."_

 _When the shirt is fully opened, Arthur kisses his way down Eames's chest, across his stomach, and then mouths the bulging area in Eames's pants. He taps a finger on the inside of Eames's thigh before standing and removing the shirt and letting it join the pile on the chair._

 _Now, Eames wants his turn. Arthur lets him remove his tie and open a few buttons on his shirt, but then he slides from Eames's grasp and is on his knees._

 _"Shoes."_

 _The tone is commanding, and Eames follows it instantly, toeing off his shoes and kicking them aside. They're barely gone before Arthur is divesting him of his remaining clothing._

 _Arthur looks up at him with that slight smile, and then that brilliant mouth is around him, and he's lost. He reaches a hand toward Arthur, wanting to touch and wishing to see more of him, but his grasp falls short._

Eames's arm locks against the shower wall, shaking to hold him upright. He thrusts into his other hand in a fast erratic pace. The vision of Arthur on his knees sucking his cock explodes in his mind and shudders through his body. His hand slides down the wall as he comes, and eventually he follows its path until he's seated on the shower floor.

The water falling no longer holds much warmth. It's chilly, but he's doesn't have the energy to move yet. He's shaken to realize while his fantasy was highly arousing, in the end it was far from satisfying. He's still left with this yearning to see more of Arthur, to touch all of him.

 _Arthur, what have you done to me?_

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Woah, easy there mate." Eames keeps Trey from falling headlong through the door Arthur has just opened.

"You're a good friend." Trey swings an arm around his shoulder, and Eames guides him into the room.

"The best." He supposes he put a little too much sarcasm into the response as Arthur gives him a look. As if dear Trey is capable at the moment of recognizing an ironical tone.

Trey collapses into a chair. "I need a drink." He rubs his hand through his dark hair making the front stand up in a rather impressive pouf.

"Well, then, we'll get you a drink. You should get whatever you want on your birthday."

"Yes, exactly. More wine." Trey waves his hand around like some sort of wounded bird.

The drink request amuses Eames considering the front of Trey's shirt is already sporting a rather fine vintage. Of course, they're responsible for this wardrobe disaster with Arthur having casually nudged a chair directly into Trey's stumbling path. Eames had helped things along by softly questioning why so many people needed to follow them up to the penthouse for a task that should take no more than 10 minutes, which had Trey waving everyone off except him and Arthur. So here they are on the 7th floor in the Hassler's famous penthouse alone with their mark. It's almost disappointing how easy it was.

Arthur comes over with the requested glass of wine, but Trey's head has dropped to his chest, and he's started to snore. Eames shakes him, but gets no reaction. A flick to the cheek and, "Trey," also produces no response. "Passed out. That's a relief."

"I was afraid he'd puke on the way up."

Eames smirks. "I'm sure he will when he wakes. He's on his own handling that." When he turns, he sees Arthur is already recovering the PASIV from where Eames had previously hid it. His last excursion into the room hadn't allowed for much time to really look around, and he finds himself curious.

The place is stocked with antiques and rather expensive pictures, not to mention plasma TVs. There's a four-poster canopy bed in the main bedroom and two bathrooms, each with marble detailing. He's about to step out onto the terrace when Arthur calls out to him.

"We don't have much time." Arthur's in business mode, his expression calm and serious.

It feels like someone is twisting a vice inside his chest, and Eames realizes he's stalling because once the job is over, he and Arthur will part ways. He's not ready for that to happen. But Arthur's right, they don't have much time and they have a job to do. He walks back to the sitting room, removes his jacket, and takes a seat in a rather uncomfortable chair. Comfort really doesn't matter as he's only going under for 5 minutes.

He takes the IV line Arthur hands him, squeezes the cannula and inserts the needles into his wrist.

When Arthur has finished hooking up Trey he comes over. "You ready?"

Arthur's cool demeanor must be contagious because he finds he has no ready quip for this moment, so he simply nods and says, "Yes."

As he watches Arthur head over to the table where he's placed the PASIV, he has a fleeting wish that he could turn back time and relive the last two weeks or at least be confident that he could convince Arthur that they should leave Rome together.

The next moment he's sitting alone in a room with a dressing table and a huge ornate mirror. The melancholy of that last thought seems to have carried into the dream with him as he finds himself missing the balance of Arthur's cool perfectionism in this scenario they've created. They had decided as it was a simple job, there was no need to bring on another team member. Eames would go under and extract the information, and Arthur would keep watch. He doesn't doubt their chosen course of action, so it's time to stop being a ninny and get to work.

As he faces the mirror, he watches his reflection change. The woman looking back at him is beautiful, just as she had been before the illness sapped the vibrancy from her skin and eyes. If you look closely, you can see faint laugh lines around her eyes, but otherwise there's nothing to give away that her 50th birthday has come and gone. The brown eyes that gaze back at him are serious and confident, but when she smiles, they light up with warmth. Eames picks up a brush from the dressing table and runs it through long dark hair. Confident that the forge is successful, he stands and makes his way to where he knows he'll find Trey—the room with an incredible view of the Trevi fountain.

Trey sits on a long, red velvet couch that's facing the window. It's open and a breeze gusts through the room. Eames doesn't hear the sound of any projections coming from the open window. Despite it being daylight, the outside world is eerily silent. Eames wonders how this will go. He's always fascinated by how the various marks interpret the settings of a dream.

"Mother." Trey stands, and Eames notices he has his mother's serious, brown eyes. Stripped of his playboy persona, he looks older and weary. As expected, the sentimentality Trey showed was evidence of a more serious nature buried down.

"Trey."

"I was just watching the fountain. Care to join me?"

"You know I would. I could spend hours looking at that fountain."

"And you have." Trey smiles, but as Eames sits next to him, he notices there's no joy in that smile. Interesting.

"It's good to see you. I just wish I could see you outside of this place. I wish you could be a part of my life, been at my party today."

Eames is thrown. He and Arthur expected the scenario to conjure up Trey's mother as she was while she was living, but obviously Trey's mind is not even allowing him that denial. He's behaving as if he's talking to her ghost.

"I wish I could have been there too. Happy 30th, dear." Eames touches the side of Trey's face briefly.

"Thank you."

"I know I can't be there, but still, I'm always with you."

Trey nods. "I know. It's just sometimes it's not enough."

Eames imagines it's probably never enough _._ "I know."

They're quiet for a moment. and the sound of the fountain grows louder, but it softens once Trey begins to speak again.

"I'm in charge now. The company is all mine. I'm the big man on campus, as they say."

Bitterness fills ever word, and Eames takes his queue from Trey's tone. He reaches over and squeezes Trey's hand. "I'm sorry."

Trey squeezes back. "I never wanted to be in charge. I never wanted anything to do with the family business. I just wanted to go my own way. You can't escape."

"You may not want this, but I know you can handle it, and surely you have friends you can trust who can help you bear this burden."

"Yes, of course." Trey pulls his hand away and looks out the window.

Eames needs to be careful. If he pushes too hard, Trey might retreat into himself. He starts to ask if Trey has been to visit Trevi lately when the man surprises him.

"I still have your pendant."

Pendant? There had been no pendant mentioned in any of the research. Was this a real item or dream symbolism?

"Of course you do. I knew you would keep it safe."

"Would you like to see it?"

Ah, things click into place. Something has been weighing heavily on Trey's mind, and the only person he trusts enough to make a confession to is his dead mother. Eames suspects it's also the information he's after.

"Yes, I'd like that very much."

When Trey stands and goes over to a wall lined with books, Eames is expecting a safe to be hidden there. Instead, Trey pulls several books off the shelf and removes something from behind it, cradling it carefully. He sits back down with the item in his lap and smiles. "I kept your music box too."

The box appears to be an antique with gilded edges and a ballroom depicted on the inside. Eames doesn't recognize the song that plays as small figures twirl in a repetitive dance. Not that it matters as he's always thought there was something creepy about the muted tones that come out of a music box. It's as if the box trapped the song and then sucked the life out of it.

Trey seems to be looking for some sort of response, so he says, "I'm glad."

"Mother, there's something I need to tell you." Trey curls his hands around the edges of the box and stares at his feet. The music has stopped. Eames feels a spike of adrenaline. He's close now to getting at Trey's secret.

"You know you can tell me anything."

"I know, but this might make you think differently of me. You may not approve."

The conversation is almost too easy when the mark is so sentimental. "Nothing could change my love for you."

"Ok. And well, what I have to tell you is about love."

 _Bingo, come on unburden your soul and tell me who's feeding you sweet nothings in the form of business advice._

Trey presses a button on the inside of the box, and the ballroom scene slowly rises, almost like a miniature form of a dream dissolving. Resting in the bottom is a silver colored pendant, shaped like a star and with diamond lined edges. In its center sits a ruby. Trey lifts the necklace as if he's holding his life in his hands, which Eames supposes he is.

When it's given over to him, Eames can tell by the heavy weight that it's platinum. _Expensive bit of jewelry._ Something is inscribed on the back—a name, Dantel Russo. Eames remembers that name from Arthur's research. The nicest thing anyone had to say about him was scheming cutthroat.

"I know Dantel is family, but we're not really related. I mean in a way that would, be, uh, gross. And...." Trey pauses and his voice is barely a whisper when he resumes. "I love him."

Eames can't recall if Dantel is some sort of second or third cousin, but he does know he is part of the family that is shady and disenfranchised. Playing the part, he touches Trey's thigh. "Does he make you happy?"

"Yes."

"Then that's enough for me."

Trey's smile is brilliant, obviously relieved and happy. Eames finds he's uncomfortable with how things are playing out, which is odd for him. But this kid is so naïve that it's a bit like kicking a puppy.

"I wouldn't have been able to get through all of this without him."

 _Oh, and I'm sure he's told you that a few hundred times._ "Do you trust him?"

"Yes." The response is given without a shade of doubt. The fool really believes it.

"I'm not smart enough to handle the company, Mother. I know you think otherwise, but that's the truth. I was in over my head. Without Dantel, it would have been a disaster. It's his decisions that have kept everything running smoothly. He loves me, but we can't tell anyone, he says. They wouldn't understand."

The sound of music permeates the room, and Eames thinks, _Thank God._ Although, it's probably not a good thing as time isn't up. Arthur must have run into an issue and is warning him a kick is coming soon. He slowly returns the pendant to the music box.

The room begins to shudder, and through the window he sees the fountain explode. Water jets into the sky, and the setting sun colors it red, making it appear as if the fountain is in its final death throw bleeding into the heavens.

The next thing he knows, he's lying on the floor with the chair he was on tipped beside him. Arthur helps him sit up and removes the IV. "Did you get it?"

"Yes. Dantel Russo."

Arthur raises an eyebrow. "That one's living up to his reputation. But they could have figured that out without hiring us for an extraction." He starts to pack up the PASIV as Eames comes to his feet.

"Perhaps. But it would have taken them longer, and Russo would never have confirmed nor Trey given him up as his source. What's going on up here? Why did you pull me early? Not that I'm complaining as I was more than ready."

"Trey's fan club is getting anxious. They were none too pleased when I wouldn't let them inside. I figure it's only a matter of time before they seek out someone from the hotel management. We need to get out of here now."

"Well then, let's get sleeping beauty here into the bedroom and make our exit."

They maneuver Trey into the bedroom, and once they've got him on the bed, Eames taps his cheek. "Good luck. You're going to need it."

Arthur gives him a look, but doesn't comment.

Once they're at the door to the penthouse, Eames reaches over and takes the PASIV from Arthur. "I think we should make our exits separately."

"Why? Our cover was joint, so there's no point in a pretense of pretending we don't know each other."

"No offense, but I've had more experience than you in making people believe it's perfectly normal to be carrying something outside of the situational norm. And I'll move quicker alone" He taps the PASIV. "Let's meet in say 10 in our emergency spot, the left garden, in that lovely partially secluded area."

Arthur shrugs. "Okay, see you outside in 10 minutes. I'll call for a taxi." He slips out the door first, and Eames counts to twenty before heading out himself.

His caution proves unnecessary as pretty much everyone is either too drunk to notice or staff members paid not to notice. As he approaches the spot where he's supposed to meet Arthur, he hears angry voices.

"You and your friend need to leave and not come back. Trey doesn't need the likes of you around, people just interested in his money."

 _How convenient that we are already planning to leave._ Eames puts down the PASIV and pulls out a tranquilizer gun. He doubts he'll need it, but it's better to be safe. They've discussed what would happen if they were confronted, and Eames expects Arthur to stick to the plan and pretend to be terrified of these morons and agree to get out of town.

He catches Arthur's eye to let him know he's there, ready to step in if needed.

Except Arthur isn't pretending to look scared. He gives the men a dismissive look and says, "You mean people like you."

 _Not part of the plan, Arthur, dear. What are you doing?_

"You little fucker!"

Arthur doesn't respond, but instead to Eames's complete shock, he decks the guy. He takes out two of the men quite easily, but this is no dream, and it's five against one with two of the men being rather large. Before Eames's brain has managed to get around what he's seeing, one of the men has Arthur lifted off his feet and pressed against a ragged stone wall. Eames hears the sound of material shredding—Arthur's shirt tearing against stone as he struggles to free himself. The sound spurs him into action.

He ignores the two men rolling on the ground, who are still recovering from Arthur's attack, and takes out the one bending down to help them. The man slumps down immediately. It takes a minute to get the next dart loaded, and when he fires it at the other rather large man joining the attack on Arthur, the man stumbles but doesn't go down.

"Bloody Hell." Fight or shoot? Eames decides to stick with the gun, and he fires another dart. This time the bugger falls to the ground, out cold.

Meanwhile, Arthur has broken free, but his common sense still seems to be on holiday, as he's not backing down and giving Eames an opening to shoot. Instead he's taunting the man by darting out of his way, smug look on his face, and he seems oblivious to the blood seeping through his shirt. The guy gets in a hard shot, and Arthur falls to his knees. Eames has his opening. Thankfully it only takes one dart to knock him out. He turns and shoots the two injured men lying on the ground. Sleep will do them good, and he's not taking any chances.

Arthur is kneeling, head down. _What the hell just happened?_ "Arthur?" There's no response. Eames kneels and moves slowly, as if dealing with a wounded animal. He places a gentle hand on Arthur's shoulder. "Hey, look at me. Are you all right?"

It's as if his touch wakes Arthur from a deep sleep. He jerks back and quickly comes to his feet. "I'm fine. We need to move now." Arthur's tone is calm in no way reflecting that just a few moments ago he'd gone suicidal and taken on five men.

The surreal feeling to the moment makes Eames reach into his pocket for his poker chip. The edges of the totem are just right—not a dream. Arthur's jacket, which is laying on the ground, catches his eye. He must have been carrying it and dropped it to make sure it didn't hinder him. Needing something to focus on, Eames walks over and recovers it. It's covered with grass stains, and he's not sure why that sight seems to bother him most.

He hands the jacket to Arthur who puts it on—either unbothered or oblivious to his appearance. His shirt is ripped and bloody, there's a cut on his chin, his hair is a mess, and there's dirt on his pants. When you add in the grass stained jacket, the effect is like some sort of anti-Arthur. Eames finds himself gaping as his mind can't wrap around it.

"We need to move now, Eames." Arthur runs his hands down the front of his pants, smoothing the fabric, as if that will help.

While his appearance is out of place, Arthur sounds exactly the same, perfectly in control, and the incongruity is so disturbing that it leaves Eames at a loss for words. He shakes his head and hurries back to grab the PASIV.

Luckily the taxi Arthur called is still waiting for them. The driver gives them a curious look when he notices Arthur's appearance. Eames spins a story about too much to drink and a fall in very broken and awkward Italian, so that the driver isn't inclined to ask questions. He needn't have worried, the driver could care less.

Not expecting any trouble with so simple a job, they had left their stuff at the previous hotel. After all, their exit was supposed to go unnoticed.

 _Well, so much for that. What do they say about best laid plans?_ Eames takes a breath and centers himself.

When they get back to the hotel, Arthur says, "We should split up now."

"No." Eames is firm. "I'll get my things and meet you in your room in five minutes."

Arthur opens his mouth, looking like he's going to argue, but Eames cuts him off. "We don't have time to debate this." That of course shuts Arthur up.

Eames grabs his things in lightning speed as he's afraid Arthur will manage to somehow give him the slip. When he gets to Arthur's door, he doesn't knock. Why bother, when the locking system is so easy to bypass?

"Arthur, I'm here," he calls out as soon as he closes the door. Today is definitely not the day to surprise Arthur in any way. He notices the bathroom door is shut and assumes Arthur is taking care of several rather nasty cuts. "Are you all right? Do you need help?"

"I'm fine."

"Of course you are," Eames mutters. It's wasted breath to offer him help.

Five minutes later, Arthur comes out of the bathroom, and to Eames's surprise he's dressed in a fresh three piece suit. _Where the hell did he get that from?_ His posture is rigid and his serene expression is marred only by the cut on his chin and the nasty looking bruise that's starting to form along his jaw line. Eames has flown with Arthur several times, and he knows that as far as dress, he usually goes more casual, or at least what counts as casual for him. Warning bells go off. Everything about Arthur screams he's desperately trying to create an illusion of calm.

"Have you called for a car?" Arthur asks.

"Not yet."

Arthur picks up the phone and calls down to the front desk. When he's done, Eames says, "We should change our plans and stick together."

"No. We separate at the airport. Ideally we wouldn't even be traveling there together. You know how to get in touch with me if it's absolutely necessary."

"How badly were you hurt?"

"It was nothing. I'm fine."

"Arthur...."

"Why do you have so much trouble sticking to a plan?"

Eames feels his jaw drop open. "Me?"

"Nothing that has happened justifies changing our exit plan."

"Something is not right with you." Eames shakes his head. "As far as I recall, nothing in any of our plans called for you to take on five shitfaced blokes."

Arthur clenches his jaw and turns so his back is facing Eames as he speaks. "I get that I fucked up. All right? I made an error in judgment. No one is perfect. If our volatile manner of exit becomes a problem with the client, I will help you smooth things over. And of course I don't expect to be compensated for my sub par performance."

"Of course you'll be compensated. We completed the job. The client will be fine. I don't care about any of that. Just give me an explanation for why you behaved like that. I've never seen you act that way." Eames stops for a moment and then continues, his voice soft. "I want you to honestly tell me if you're ok."

He hears Arthur draw in a sharp breath, and for a second, he thinks Arthur is going to confide in him, but as Arthur exhales, his posture becomes ramrod straight. Eames knows the moment is gone. He's not getting any answers.

Arthur picks up his bag from the chair. "We need to go. The car should be here by now." He opens the door and leaves without looking back to see if Eames is following.

Unlike Arthur, Eames knows when a fight is pointless, so he follows quietly and doesn't say a word on the ride to the airport. When they arrive and Arthur holds out his hand, Eames shakes it, all business. He can play this game for now.

"I'm sure we'll be in touch." Arthur's going for confident, but there's a slight waver in his voice.

"Of course we will." Eames smiles, but he doesn't get one in return. Instead, Arthur nods, says, "Good," and then walks away.

Eames watches for a minute before briskly hurrying off. He doesn't have long to change his flight, but when Arthur's plane takes off, he intends to be on it. Perhaps he'll have better luck getting some answers in Paris.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Getting a seat on this flight hadn't been as hard as he'd expected. There were several open seats, which had made things simply difficult rather than extremely difficult. As he enters the plane, Eames braces himself for Arthur's anger. He's not expecting a scene, as that's not Arthur's style, but he's sure the glare he's going to get will feel like it's stripping several layers of skin. Not to worry, he's thick-skinned. Of course, he should be prepared for anything, as he wasn't expecting Arthur to start a fight back at the Hassler either.

Yet what happens manages to surprise him even more. Arthur doesn't notice him at all. Eames's stomach twists as he takes in the sight of Arthur curled up in a window seat, one arm around his waist, his head turned toward the window and his eyes closed. The mark on his jaw looks even nastier, violent purple coloring its edges, and Arthur looks extremely pale. He doesn't know what the best course of action is. Part of him wants to ask the woman seated next to Arthur to switch seats with him, but he knows Arthur will be furious, and how is getting him upset going to help anything? Eames walks past Arthur and takes his assigned seat, but he spends what feels like the longest flight ever debating his decision.

He follows Arthur off the plane and through the cavernous expanse of Charles de Gaulle Airport, and on exiting lurks close enough to hear him give the name of his hotel to the taxi driver. At the hotel, he's almost at Arthur's elbow, listening to them give him his room number. Yet not once does Arthur show any sign that he knows he's being tailed. Eames is good, one of the best, but he hasn't exactly been at the top of his game today. Besides he's worked on jobs with Arthur where they've been followed, and it's almost always Arthur who notices first.

 _Not good. What's it going to take to get you to let me in?_

With some people if you drive them to the edge and keep pushing, they break and the answers you want tumble out, but from what he's seen that approach is not going to work in this case. Arthur isn't going to break. He's going to shore up the fortress until its impenetrable, which means he needs to give Arthur time alone to unwind so that he drops the walls rather than builds new ones. An hour should be enough time.

However, an hour proves to be longer than he can handle. Eames breaks after 30 minutes and heads up to Arthur's room. He takes a deep breath before knocking solidly on the door. When he hears the sound of feet approaching the door, he calls out, "It's me, Eames. Open up."

There's silence, and it last long enough that he's about to repeat it's him when the door opens. Arthur looks both ways down the hall, and then grabs Eames's arm and drags him inside. He lets go immediately and closes the door. His expression is worried.

"What's happened? You're supposed to be in London."

"Change of plans. Are you all right?"

Arthur shakes his head and then rubs at his temple. "Eames, I'm tired. Just tell me why you're here because there is no way you came here just to find out if I'm all right. What happened?"

"Well, for once you're wrong because actually that's exactly why I came here. So I ask you again, are you all right?"

Under other circumstances, Eames would probably find the stunned expression on Arthur's face extremely sexy, particularly since he's no longer wearing his suit jacket or vest. There's no tie hiding his neck, and his shirt's undone from his pants and open several buttons at the top. Yes, normally he'd be making cracks about Arthur being debauched, except he's so incredibly disturbed.

"Well, I'm fine. You wasted a trip."

Arthur's shirt isn't even pristine. "You're bleeding through your nice shirt."

"Damn it!" Arthur looks down at his shirt in disgust. "I thought I'd covered all the cuts."

"Since I'm here, why don't you let me take a look? Side wounds are a bitch to bandage on your own." Eames doesn't realize he's holding his breath until he hears Arthur sigh, an obvious sign of capitulation. Half an hour was obviously enough time for Arthur to feel like he has some control back.

"Okay." Arthur runs a hand through his hair. "Thanks. Put your bag wherever and get cleaned up, as I'm guessing you came here right from the airport." Arthur gives him a pointed look. "How oblivious was I? Did you follow me straight through the airport and have been lurking in the lobby for the last half hour?"

Eames grins as he puts down his bag. "Let's just say it wasn't your most self-aware day."

Arthur makes a sound that sounds like an aborted laugh. "Go."

He doesn't take long in the bathroom, and when he comes out Arthur has removed his shirt and is throwing away his previous attempts at bandaging his injuries. Eames is stunned by the patchwork of injury marring Arthur's midsection. The skin along Arthur's right side up to his ribs looks shredded, and it's obviously the source of the blood that had stained his shirt. The uncovered area must have been rubbing against the material. But that's not the full extent of his injuries as bruises mark his stomach, his lower back and sections of his rib cage.

"The idea was to run like hell, not engage."

"I know." Arthur sounds exhausted.

"Come on. Let's get this taken care of."

Arthur nods, goes into the bathroom and sits on the closed toilet seat. With his hand, he indicates several packages on the sink. "Anything you need should be there."

Eames washes his hands again and gently makes sure the cuts are clean before applying antibiotic ointment. He silently begins to work on bandaging the numerous cuts. It takes concentration to make sure everything is covered completely. Arthur's midsection is going to be mostly bandages when he's done. He glances upward and notices Arthur has his eyes closed. When Eames stands to get some more bandages for the smaller cuts, he places a hand on Arthur's upper back and rubs lightly. Arthur exhales, and the tension releases from his shoulders.

As he kneels back down, Eames says, "I'm sorry about Mal and everything with Cobb."

Arthur shudders and a wince goes across his face as his jaw tightens. His eyes are still closed, and he doesn't say anything.

Eames is almost sorry he brought it up, but it needed to be said. He wants to make it clear that he's put the pieces together, and that if Arthur wants to talk, he'll listen. It seems, though, Arthur isn't ready to talk, at least not with him, maybe not with anyone, so he lets it go.

As he tends to some of the smaller cuts, he makes a point of touching Arthur in uninjured places and notices how Arthur leans into each of those touches. He seems to relax as the silence continues and he realizes Eames is going to let the subject drop.

"Okay. I think we're good. Any cuts lower?"

Arthur opens his eyes and pushes his hair back. "Not really."

Eames raises an eyebrow and stares at him.

"It's just bruising along the waist, not cuts."

"You're sure."

Arthur sighs. "I'd say this is just an excuse to get into my pants, but I don't think even you're that depraved." He undoes his pants, sliding them and his boxers down slightly.

Eames is amused and pleasantly surprised by Arthur's quip. "My depravity isn't so easily quantifiable." He looks at the area Arthur is displaying to him. "It does look like just bruising, nasty bruising."

"Satisfied?"

"Hmmm."

Arthur shakes his head as he redoes his pants.

Eames stares at the bruising along the back of Arthur's ribs and frowns. "You're not having any trouble breathing are you?"

"No."

"Good. I don't think anything's broken, but you probably have a few bruised ribs."

"I think it's more than a probably." Arthur tries for a smile, but it doesn't quite work. He stands up, wobbling slightly as he does so.

"I'll clean up here. You should go lie down or something."

"Thanks." Arthur briefly touches Eames's arm as he leaves.

A few minutes later when Eames come out of the bathroom, he sees Arthur sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. He's still shirtless, but a good bit of his torso is now a sea of white. He sits down next to Arthur and puts a hand on his neck. When Arthur doesn't pull away, he massages the area. Arthur extends his neck, so Eames can access more of it.

He's struck by just how much has changed over the last two weeks. How comfortable Arthur is with him now. They sit there quietly for a few minutes before Eames asks, "Do you want some company?"

That question gets him a ragged laugh. Arthur shakes his head and moves slightly away. "One track mind. I don't think I'm up to the celebration you had in mind. You'll have to take a rain check. Sorry to disappoint."

"That's not what I meant." Eames takes a risk and reaches out and squeezes Arthur's shoulder, trying to reestablish the connection they'd been sharing.

Arthur glances sideways at him, and there's a whirlwind of emotion in his gaze. Gratitude mixes with something almost desperate, but it's gone in an instant, locked away in the vault of Arthur's control before Eames can even be positive he saw it. He freezes, unsure as to what the answer is going to be and all the while knowing leaving gracefully is out of the question at this point.

"Yes, I'd like the company." The words are spoken without doubt. There's no waver to Arthur's tone, and the cool surety of the response throws Eames. It takes him a moment to accept that Arthur has admitted he wants him to stay.

 _Focus. Don't get carried away with yourself_. The last thing he wants is Arthur to doubt his decision. "Do you need anything beside sleep? Food, something to drink? Although I probably wouldn't recommend anything stronger than water."

Arthur laughs. "I'm pretty sure getting drunk would not improve this day. I'm fine. What about you? Did you want to grab something to eat?"

"Nah, I ate on the plane." Eames yawns and then smiles. "Sleep might be a good idea, don't you think?"

"Best idea I've heard all day." Arthur stands up. "I'm going to get changed."

It doesn't surprise Eames that Arthur travels with pajamas, nor that they look as crisp as his suits. _I bet he irons all of his clothes._ What does surprise him is how Arthur changes right in front him without an ounce of self-consciousness. It's not like there would be much to see, as he doesn't remove his boxers and there's a heck of a lot of skin covered in bandages, but he would have expected Arthur to want to change out of sight.

As Arthur goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth, Eames ponders where he developed the expectation that Arthur would be self-conscious. He can't recall a single incident that would have brought him to that assumption. Except the idea had seemed to fit with what he'd known about Arthur, but it doesn't fit now. He feels a bit like he's riding the rapids, caught in the heady thrill of being allowed to see beneath Arthur's perfectly constructed persona.

He's jerked out of his speculation when Arthur comes out of the bathroom and hands him a packaged toothbrush.

Eames smirks, but before he can comment, Arthur says, "No I don't travel with extra toothbrushes just in case. I didn't have one with me so I called down to the front desk, and they brought up a few."

Arthur rolls his eyes, but there is a slight upturn to his mouth, and he looks much calmer. As he turns to walk away, though, he stumbles, wobbling as if his legs had started to fold.

Eames is standing in an instant and grabbing Arthur's arm to balance him. "Easy."

"I'm fine." Arthur gently removes himself from Eames's grasp. "I'm just tired. Go brush your teeth." He gives Eames's arm a push.

With a frown Eames does as requested. Once he's finished brushing his teeth, he follows Arthur's example and strips down in plain view. However, he doesn't travel with pajamas so he leaves his boxers on. He looks up to find Arthur's gaze scanning his body. He's tempted to ask Arthur if he likes what he sees, but he's wary of breaking the peace. As he turns off the lights in the room, he can't help wondering if things had played out differently would he have gotten his celebration. Well, there's always the rain check.

As he slides into bed next to Arthur, he suddenly feels awkward. It's rather silly, but he's never done this before, just slept with someone without shagging them first. Eames is faced with an interesting dilemma—for once he's not sure what to do.

Arthur solves the problem neatly by laying his head on Eames's chest and wrapping an arm around his waist.

Eames runs his hand along Arthur's upper back in broad soothing strokes. "All right?"

"Hmmmm."

He feels Arthur's breath ghost across his stomach and smiles. With every pass of his hand, Arthur seems to relax more against him, until finally he can tell by the heaviness of his breathing that he's asleep. His own eyes start to feel heavy.

Eames only realizes he fell asleep when he's woken by the sound of something dropping. He reaches out a hand. Arthur's gone. He pushes himself partially up, enough to see the sliver of light coming from the bathroom. A second later the light goes out and the door opens. "Arthur?"

"Everything's fine. Go back to sleep."

The bed dips, and Arthur's feet touch his. The scary thought crosses his mind that he could easily get used to sharing a bed with Arthur. "You go back to sleep too." His words sound mumbled, sleep still fogging his brain. He reaches a hand out toward Arthur.

"I will." Arthur laces their fingers together, and that's how Eames falls back to sleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In the morning, Arthur is gone. While his absence isn't a surprise, it is a disappointment. What's more surprising is that he'd never heard the other man leave. Like most in his line of work, Eames is a light sleeper when the sleep isn't induced. And while Arthur is definitely one of the best at moving quietly, Eames suspects his remaining asleep has more to do with him than with Arthur's stealthy abilities. It seems Arthur has joined the incredibly short list of people he trusts.

There's a note on the pillow next to his, and he picks it up.

 _Eames,_

 _The bill for the room has been taken care of. I asked the front desk to give you a wakeup call, just to be sure you wouldn't sleep past check-out time. Considering my sub-par performance, I do not expect any remuneration._

"Remuneration? Really love, of course you're getting paid." Eames shakes his head and continues reading.

 _However, I hope we'll still be able to work together in the future._

"No doubt about that." Eames stares at the paper as it looks like Arthur tried to erase something. He sits up and turns on the light, holding the paper directly under it. It looks like Arthur started to write, "And I'd like if" before changing his mind.

Instead there's just a smudge, and then the last line of the letter.

 _Thank you for everything, Arthur._

Eames runs a finger over the smudge and imagines Arthur his forehead scrunching as he tries to find the right words until eventually he settles on the simple thank you, no doubt dissatisfied with the end result. That scene would be so very Arthur.

The note makes him smile and he folds it carefully and places it in his wallet. He's managed to slip past Arthur's defenses, albeit slightly, which no doubt means Arthur will probably fortify. Still, Eames is confident that in the end he'll get what he wants, because he's sure it's what Arthur wants as well. He now knows there are chinks in Arthur's armor, and it's human nature on bad days to remember better days—memories like gelato by a fountain and dinner in Rome will surface.

He's laid the groundwork; there will be other opportunities to build upon that foundation. Eames is patient when he's sure he's going to get what he wants. Besides, in the meantime, he's got the memories to keep him company as well.


End file.
